


Divine Intervention

by HyperKid



Series: Critter Gods [6]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Crack, Intervention, Other, and sometimes need to be reminded other people are people too, archfey are not just regular people, communication is key, trainee deity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:41:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25987588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HyperKid/pseuds/HyperKid
Summary: Artagan really can’t imagine why a secret shared wouldn’t be a secret halved; he’s told Jester a new secret. He assumes she’d be thrilled. It takes a couple of friends to remind him that this secret has changed her world.
Relationships: Artagan & Jester Lavorre, The Traveler & Jester Lavorre, cleric & deity, the Wildmother & Caduceus Clay, the Wildmother & Fjord
Series: Critter Gods [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1397104
Comments: 12
Kudos: 67





	Divine Intervention

**Author's Note:**

> HK: There’s this fundamental misunderstanding I see a lot in CR fans about what an archfey is. It’s not weird if he murders people; it’s weird if he doesn’t.   
> Mollymauk: To be fair, that’s true of us too.   
> HK: The Mighty Nein have... well I was gonna say they’ve been working on that but that’s a baldfaced lie. They’ve been directing their murderous impulses?   
> Mollymauk: It’s what we do best!   
> HK: I blame Disney, really. Giving people the idea that feyfolk are nice and trustworthy and won’t eat your soul?   
> Mollymauk: It’s the bath bomb dilemma all over again.   
> HK: Why am I not surprised you’ve discovered bath bombs?   
> Mollymauk: Please, I do all my best work naked and boiling. Bath oils are common around the worlds.   
> HK: Why do you keep adding to my WIP pile?   
> Mollymauk: Look what you getting down to 30 did at the beginning of 2020.   
> HK: ...... Okay correlation is not causation but you’re right and we shouldn’t risk it. 
> 
> WARNINGS!! Not much today really, it’s weird 
> 
> Disclaimer: Y’all know if I owned this show we’d have had Traveler Con by now

“So, you’ve been found out?” 

There’s a gentle amusement in the Wildmother’s voice, one that brings a smile to Artagan’s lips as he meets her gaze. 

“I told her,” he corrected gently, pouring another cup of tea and pushing it across the table. 

Melora takes her seat elegantly, arranging her skirts and taking the cup, dropping a few cubes of sugar into it. There’s something very knowing in her smile, something almost maternal. 

“It went well, I take it?” She asks pointedly, pushing the sugar back. 

He’s tempted to be annoyed by it. To at least play at being offended; he can certainly handle his own cleric. But there’s really not much point. He’s in over his head with the whole god business, and he knows it. 

Who would know better whether the whole thing is worth the trouble? 

So he smiles back a little ruefully, taking the sugar and refilling his tea. 

“I think she was... disappointed. I thought she would be pleased, or at least helpful.” 

“It is a lot to put on a young woman,” the Storm Lord put in, pushing aside his own cup. 

Artagan frowned, a little confused. 

“I’d have thought if anything it would be a relief. Knowing how many people we’ll be seeing, and what the plan is. She’s been worrying about what to do for weeks. Now she knows what’s going on.” 

“I thought what was going on was that you didn’t have a plan?” The Storm Lord asks, brow furrowing in confusion. 

He wasn’t wrong. Artagan shrugs, not exactly seeing the problem. 

“No, but together we’ll come up with something. It’s never been a problem before.” 

“This may be on a slightly higher scale than the pranks you’ve done before,” Melora points out gently. 

The Traveler’s brows furrow. 

“But she’s known about it for months. We’ve talked about some potential ideas already.” 

The Wildmother and the Storm Lord exchange meaningful looks. One of the things they’d certainly noticed in the archfey was... call it an aversion to thinking things through. He didn’t always think before he acted. 

He didn’t usually think before he acted. 

It worked out for him because it was historically very hard to pin down an archfey who didn’t want to be pinned down. He’d not run into anyone on the Prime Material or divine planes that showed any interest in holding him accountable. 

Which might have been a mistake if the consequences he had now weren’t so entertaining. 

The Wildmother hides a smile in her cup. 

“I believe Kord was referring more to revealing your secret than the event itself,” she points out innocently. 

Artagan only looks more confused. 

“I gave her a confidence. She’s always valued anything I told her before.” 

Kord looks relieved to have the conversation back to a point he understands. Trying to understand the archfey has never been his strong suit, and fortunately he’s never really tried to. 

“It is quite a significant secret, and one you kept from her specifically for a long time. She may be questioning your relationship.” 

He may as well have thrown a punch. The Traveler’s jaw drops, his face more hurt than either of the others have ever seen. It’s the first time he looks genuinely affected, and it’s as satisfying as Melora has privately expected. 

His mouth works silently for a long moment, sentences considered and disgarded. He even sounds shaken when he speaks. 

“Why would she do that? It’s surely a compliment, a sign of trust?” 

The smile is becoming difficult to hide. Melora sets her teacup down delicately, braces her elbows on the table, and rests her chin on laced fingers. 

“A sign that she did not have your full trust before,” she reminds him gently. Yes, she’s having fun now. She would prefer not having it at the expense of young Jester, but the woman is resilient. If she truly believed the young tiefling were in any danger she’d probably try to have less fun, but... it is satisfying. 

Artagan has enjoyed playing at being a god these past few years with remarkably few consequences before his following began to grow. He’s been pleasant company too, a refreshing change from the same old faces they’ve all been stuck with since the calamity. 

Watching his devolution as more and more people began to demand his time has been excellent. They really are remarkably similar; archfey as a whole are tied to the natural world in a similar way to she herself. 

Though, in the Feywild the landscape itself is always resistant to control, and those who live there tend to feel similar. They lean towards an embrace of the wildness, of beautiful chaos in a way that she has at least contained since her marriage. Not because Erathis ever asked; more... tempering her mettle. 

Artagan has never been tempered in his life, and Melora is very much looking forward to seeing if his little cleric will try. Will do it without trying. Just the idea that he’s hurt her, that he considers her enough his equal to realize that she can be hurt, is promising. 

He’s sat more quietly than either of them have ever seen him, truly worrying about this idea. Not quite the same seething silence of Kord when his Yasha was taken. Not angry. Worried, confused, lost. 

“I didn’t lie to her,” he says finally, and the Wildmother realizes he’s been replaying their every conversation. Every interaction he had with his young tiefling. Looking for where he told her he was a god. 

The Storm Lord is growing more impatient, but this is... so often the issue with the fey. Their rules are so different from those that govern the mortal planes, powerful, irascible, and seemingly arbitrary to those who haven’t traveled the Feywild. 

“You allowed her to believe it and did not correct her,” he corrects the archfey sharply, and Artagan looks even more confused. 

“She is not fey, Traveler,” the Wildmother reminds him more gently, taking the tea pot once more, “and she did not know you were fey to know your rules of conversation.” 

He seems surprised to have it mentioned. But he considers it, sitting quietly for a long moment. The Storm Lord uses it to hammer the point home. 

“She knew who you were for over a decade, and now you have told her that was false. She knew you were all powerful, and now you have showed her your weakness.” 

“I thought you approved of that,” Artagan protests, but his heart isn’t in it. He’s clearly distracted but Kord grants him a smile anyway. 

“I do. But you have challenged everything she knew about you. If you wish her to believe any of it, you will have to show her what was true.” 

Artagan subsides back into his seat, staring into his tea. He seems truly troubled, and the Wildmother lets him have this moment. 

What none of them will say is that Artagan must decide how much of it was true himself. How much he does care for his favourite, how much he will let her hurt upset him. This quiet, this concern, brought about by the thought that he may have truly wronged her, seems answer enough to Kord. 

Melora is less sure, more familiar with the twisting, spiralling thought process of the fey. 

When he raises his head, his expression is the most open it has been on this plane. Not masked in a smile, in cool amusement, or an aloof stare. 

It puts Melora on edge just a little, looking for the trick. There doesn’t seem to be one. 

“What can I do? There is far too much... I have to arrange travel for so many, I cannot give her my full attention.” 

Both the Wildmother’s brows rise at the mere suggestion. She’s never known the Traveler to give his full attention to anything, not even his own hedonistic pleasures. 

There is a degree of pleasure in knowing how strung out he is over the whole affair. Reaping what he has sown. Finding the limits of even this newfound power. 

If only they could have all who aspired to godhood have the same revelation. It’s always more work than those who declare themselves divine imagine. 

Finally the Traveler sighs, shaking his head. 

“I thought at least some of them would make their way themselves,” he grumbles, sitting back in his seat and folding his arms. 

The Wildmother and the Storm Lord exchange smiles. 

“It is, perhaps, a consequence of being so hands on?” The Wildmother suggests, and Artagan laughs. 

“You did warn me,” he agrees with a wry smile. “I’ll be able to talk to Jester at the event. And hopefully after, if all goes well.” 

“She will need you now,” Kord reminds him, disapproval in every line of his face, “especially if you intend to have her help you prepare. You should be there for her.” 

The Traveler nods, a flicker of annoyance across his face. 

“As much as I can be. She will understand. I’ll make it up to her at the event, once everyone else has been dealt with.” 

The Storm Lord gives him a long, piercing stare, which only seems to bemuse the archfey. Like he honestly isn’t sure what he’s done to earn such scrutiny. 

He’s usually more insightful, but then, he’s also usually on his game. 

Taking a sip of her tea, the Wildmother decides to take pity on him for now. 

“And will you still be visiting us?” 

It catches both of their attention and they both turn to face her, equally confused. Then Artagan smiles. 

“From time to time. Shall I not tell your paladin? He’d be terribly disappointed to hear you kept my company.” He’s teasing, but he’s absolutely right, and it really is tempting. 

Melora’s still learning the limits of her new paladin, learning to know him the way she does her Clay. The instant dislike he’s built for the archfey is intensely amusing, even more so when she can see how gently Artagan stokes it. 

Anger and frustration are food and drink to him, when he bothers to acknowledge them at all, and more so from someone so... mortal. So relatively powerless, here and now. 

With the way they’re all growing, it’s possible Fjord will one day be a match for him. One day soon. They certainly believe they are already, and perhaps the group all together might be. 

But that rather requires Jester to take their side against her Traveler. 

They’ve not put her in that position yet, but Melora wouldn’t rule it out. And now... she can’t be sure which side Jester would choose. Whichever it is would hurt her dearly, and before this revelation it would not be a question. 

Jester would leave her new friends for her god. Whether she would leave them for her best friend is an entirely new question, and one that will depend on Artagan now. 

The real question is whether or not to mention it. He clearly doesn’t doubt her, doesn’t expect anything to change in the time between now and their convention. It’s almost funny from one so entirely changeable. 

For now, she shakes her head, a slight smile on her face. 

“Best not to mention it. He is a rather... black and white thinker.” 

“A common trait with your cleric,” Kord notes, and Melora laughs. 

“Yes... though I believe they’re all learning about shades of grey,” she agrees, shaking her head. It’s what she’s hoped for since Caduceus Clay left his grove; to see the innumerable layers of nuance the outside world holds. 

Nature is rarely ever so simple as “good” and “bad”, and he’s certainly flexible around matters of life and death. But he’s still rigid in much of his thinking, certain he knows what is best, and that there is a good and bad path. He’s become flexible in allowing his companions to choose, but Melora knows he judges those choices. 

Still the middle child. 

Her attention shifts, back to the temple that their adventurers are fast approaching. She is hopeful. There’s only so much warning she can give through the divine gate, and she knows the truth of a cleric; she must have faith in him as much as he does in her. 

The Mighty Nein are clever, resourceful, and dangerous. Larger in number than those she’s guided there before. And... 

Should things go poorly, there is every chance Artagan will take direct action to at least remove his cleric. Every chance he could be persuaded to stage a distraction and allow the others to escape. Especially if he feels that he owes her. 

He’s no fighter certainly, but he has all the cunning of a long life. Humming softly to herself, Melora discards that train of thought for now. No point in worrying about it until they know what is needed. 

She will trust in her Clay, and in her new paladin, and in the strength of their friends. 

Instead, she bestows a beaming smile on Kord. 

“I believe there was something you wished to share?” She prompts gently, and the Storm Lord grunts, clearly having completely forgotten. 

He reaches into a pouch, searching for a moment before shoving a small bag at Artagan. The archfey is immediately suspicious, as his people usually are of gifts. Those who give so many as traps have reason to be wary. 

But he studies the god’s face for a moment, then takes the bag. Opens it. Laughs as he shakes a slim green friendship bracelet into his hand. 

Kord nods sternly, fighting a smile. 

“For your good deed.” 

“Perhaps I’ll make one for Jester,” the Traveler laughs, checking the bracelet for incantations and fastening it around his wrist. He takes a moment to admire it, the idea clearly sparking something, and Melora hides another smile in her cup. 

An activity for Traveler Con, perhaps. 

**Author's Note:**

> HK: There’s gonna be a couple more of these once they finish percolating, so rest assured, this series is not done! I will not be stopped in my quest for fluffy domestic gods just because Laura creates her own deities.


End file.
